


Only Pussies

by almina



Category: Breaking Bad & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almina/pseuds/almina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse is diagnosed with cancer.   He refuses treatment.   Walt and Jesse run into Tuco's lookalike cousin, who finds Jesse attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Pussies

"Cold."

Jesse melded along Walt's body as if his bones had turned to water.

"Cold," Jesse said again, a quiver in his voice.

Walt was not quite awake before he wrapped his arms around Jesse.

Jesse was burning up. He was as wet as if Walt had just pulled him out of a pool. Walt put his hand in Jesse's hair. It was soaked.

Walt turned on the bedside lamp and pulled the blankets from Jesse's side of the bed. There was a long wet mark, longer than Jesse, wider than Jesse. Walt touched it. It was cold.

"Night sweats," he said in his teacher's voice. "A fever. And chills."

"All my life," Jesse murmured, "on and off." 

Jesse was asleep again, his head heavy on Walt's arm. Walt touched his thumb to the violet shadows under Jesse's eyes.

 

Jesse blew it off. He said he knew why it happened.

"I applied to the video program, to create videos, games and shit. They said I had a beautiful gesture, a wonderful eye, whatever the fuck that means. But I didn't know anything about the software." 

"You didn't get in?"

"The counselor told me to apply again when I know what I'm doing." It was obvious the rejection stung Jesse. 

"I'll get you another computer. Something for graphics. What software packages were they talking about?" 

"I'll know 'em if I see them."

 

A few sweaty nights later, Mr. White had the completely unexpected feeling that sex with Jesse had to be gentle now. Jesse was sick. Jesse was not strong.

Jesse caught on right away. 

"I'm not going to break," he said. "Do anything."

Jesse couldn't mean anything. Mr. White remembered plowing Jesse across the bedroom floor. And that shameful time when Mike was trying to shift Jesse's loyalty to Gus. Mr. White threatened to fuck Jesse bloody. 

Jesse had made his mouth an O and raised his eyebrows. "Oooo, that's exciting."

Walt was gentle that night. Nothing that could hurt.

 

"Only pussies go to doctors. Or if you can't get drugs on the street."

Walt could not regret having money or the way he got it when he requested a doctor to make a house call. That was the only way Jesse would accept examination.

He stayed in the bedroom when the doctor came to see Jesse. 

"You're such a perv," Jesse said as he stripped. He tossed his clothes at Walt who caught them piece by piece and folded them.

"Recent test for HIV?" said Dr. Cargill.

"No."

"Any chemical exposure?"

"Yo, no."

Smooth liar Jesse. You don't tell a doctor the truth any more than you tell a cop the whole truth and nothing but.

Cargill probed hard in Jesse's armpit.

"Damn," Jesse said and pulled away. 

"How long have these lumps..."

"Four or five years on and off." 

The doctor said nothing but looked across the room a moment before he got his professional face back on. Walt felt a lash across his conscience. All the time he and Jesse had been cooking together, Jesse had been sick.

But Walt's fingers had been everywhere. Jesse had no secrets. How had Walt not known?

"The young have such reserves, it can be very far progressed before you have a reason to check it out," Dr. Cargill said when Jesse went into the bathroom to produce a clean catch urine specimen. 

After Jesse set down the container of urine, Cargill did a fine needle biopsy of the lumps in his armpit. 

"What the fuck," Jesse said. 

 

A week later, Cargill called Jesse in for an appointment. Mr. White tensed as he heard Jesse's side of the conversation.

"Lymphoma, non Hodgkins lymphoma," Jesse said when he ended the call. He got a beer out of the fridge. "Says I have to go back for an excisional biopsy. And shit."

Mr. White went pale.

"No fucking chemo, no fucking radiation. No point in going back," Jesse said. 

"You aren't the only person this affects."

"I saw what treatment did to Ginny. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

"I didn't die," Walt said.

"And you looked so good at the compound. You could hardly walk."

"You decide not to treat this, that's like walking out on me."

"I'm not walking out. I'm deciding how I'll die. Which I probably will not."

 

That night Walt woke to find Jesse's side of the bed empty and cool. Jesse was not in the bathroom nor in the kitchen. With anxiety Walt did not want to admit, he searched until he found Jesse out on the terrace, in his underwear. He was photographing orbs, he said. Walt thought orbs were photographic artifact. He didn't see them. He only saw Jesse, manic at two in the morning, eyes glassy, bare feet on the flagstone. Jesse took a photo of Walt, standing there with a blanket over his arm and a sad expression. 

"I know they're out tonight. I know."

It was a kick in Mr. White's gut. Jesse was losing it. The cancer was in his brain.

Walt draped the blanket around him and took him inside. Jesse left the camera on his desk and followed Walt to bed. He didn't seem crazy now, just sweet and warm.

In the morning Jesse downloaded the photos from his camera and printed them out as Walt made coffee.

Jesse laughed. He held up a photo of Walt on the terrace, in his bathrobe, a blanket over his arm. "You're looking at me like I'm crazy."

In the photo, orbs clustered around Walt like a swarm of butterflies.

 

They were on the terrace in the afternoon, sitting on the glider, a plate of Jesse's lunch on the glass top table. Potato chips. A smear of peanut butter. Salsa, whipped cream, and godawmighty horseradish. 

Mr. White looked at that sorry excuse of a meal. "No wonder you're sick," Mr. White said.

Jesse knew the sharpness in Mr. White's voice was not anger. It was fear. It still surprised him that someone could worry about him.

"This is not a big deal, " Jesse said. "Remember that time I was out of your class for three weeks?"

Mr. White nodded. Of all his students, he remembered Jesse. Jesse's lapses. Jesse's cartoons. 

"I had made my first meth. Tried it." Jesse lolled his head back, closed his eyes. "It was awful. I had the same symptoms I have now. But no way in hell was I going to tell anyone that my meth was deadly."

Jesse turned his face to Mr. White. "I should have asked you for help right then."

Mr. White stroked Jesse's hair. "Having me help you make quality meth was all it would have taken to get you to pay attention in class?"

"Absolutely."

 

It was Mr. White's idea. Medical tourism. "It won't be anything horrible like chemo and radiation. You can stop it at anytime."

Jesse still did not want to treat his so called cancer but Mr. White wanted this so much. Okay. Okaaaay.

Mr. White chartered an eight seat twin to take them into Mexico. They were the only passengers. Jesse slept slumped against Mr. White's shoulder.

The clinic was more like a luxury hotel than a hospital, each unit with a bouganvillea bowered terrace. Adjacent to a pool with a swim up bar. A breath taking view of the desert that called up memories of cooking. A smorgasbord of treatments. IV vitamin C. Macro vitamin and mineral doses. Organic juicing, so much that Jesse wasn't to drink water, only juice. Laser excision for solid tumors outside bone. Cesium chloride with weekly checks of postassium levels.

"It's not that we offer something exotic down here. We just let you use these methods," said the doctor assigned to Jesse's case.

Mr. White was kinder than Jesse thought he could be, keeping Jesse company, keeping an eagle eye on what Jesse consumed and how it was prepared. Jesse thought that Mr. White was also making sure he didn't backslide into a junkfood binge.

Jesse was impatient with the regimen but he was not so heartless as to mock Mr. White's attention and care.

In a month Jesse had another screening for lymphoma, to see how effective treatment had been.

Mr. White was reading the lab reports in the morning light. Jesse lay naked in bed. The venetian blinds made stripes across his pale skin.

" Nodes, blood, imaging. Negative," said Mr. White. "Negative. Negative again." He was radiant with happiness. Mr. White lay down beside Jesse, wrapped his arms around him

 

They flew home on a small charter. The attendant tried and failed three times to stomp a cockroach that crawled down the aisle as if it were looking for its seat. The attendant tried a fourth stomp on the insect. It crawled away. Jesse reached to the carpet, rescued the roach and put it in his pocket. 

"I am a cockroach. Nothing can kill me," Jesse said. "Besides we need a pet,"Jesse said.

Walt looked at him. "No point in saying we aren't taking that into the house. " 

 

On the way home from the airport, Mr. White had their driver stop at a farmers' market. They bought six bags of organic vegetables and fruit. There was barely enough room for them and the groceries in the car.

"I am sick of this healthy shit. I want real food, fat, crunch, sugar, salt," Jesse said.

Walt could not say no.

They dropped their luggage and groceries at home. Mr. White drove them to a buffet. Jesse got the cardiac plate, breaded shrimp, fries, fried bacon wrapped mushrooms and fried onions, poppers. 

"You'll help me eat this," he said to Walt.

Walt was still, narrowing his eyes at the guy two people ahead of them in the line.

Jesse sees. "Ghost. It's a ghost," he murmured. 

Walt indulged him. Jesse believed in orbs and in ghosts.

The ghost was a cop, Tuco's doppelganger. He turned as if he heard their thoughts. He looked them over and smiled a little as he paid. He had fries and a hamburger, tomato salad, cole slaw and a chocolate covered strawberry. He took a table near the center of the dining room. He could see everything.

When they had sat down, Tuco, the ghost, pulled a chair to the end of their booth and, set his tray on their table. He gave Walt an wary look and Jesse a look that could only be described as appreciative. Walt noted the 'Det.' on Carlos Salamanca's badge.

"I see someone jump when he sees me," Carlos had Tuco's smile, even without the grill, "when someone thinks I am my second cousin, I know he's into meth, somehow, not just a tweaker.

Jesse was in his brat mode when he had told Walt that he was always attracting men. Walt saw it now. Jesse wasn't flirting, he was being irritating. But Tuco/ Carlos was interested. Oh, was he interested.

"I shot your cousin, didn't kill him but I tried," Jesse said.

Walt thought that Jesse was deranged. You don't tell a cop you tried to murder his relative.

"Shot my cousin?" Carlos said.

Jesse didn't answer, didn't bother to explain anything to Carlos Salamanca, uniformed detective. Very badass.

Finally Carlos broke the silence. 

"You're so thin but you eat like that. You got HIV?" Carlos said. 

The question pissed off Jesse. He bit the end off one of his fries, leaving a lot of saliva on it and dipped it in the ketchup on Carlos plate. "You think?" Jesse said.

Then Carlos jinked away from the subject.

"How'd you get those scars?" Carlos could do sympathetic nice guy so well you forgot he was a cop.

"Lousy working conditions."

Carlos/Tuco nodded. He looked both Walt and Jesse up and down. "Decent clothes, mid level at least."

Mr. White smiled slightly. He was way more than mid level when he retired from the meth business.

"Didn't you think I was Tuco?"

"No. You're not insane," Jesse said, taking another swipe of Carlos' ketchup.

Tuco/Carlos stood up, nodded and gave them a little smile. He took his tray back to his table.

As Jesse and Mr. White left, Jesse felt Mr. White slow behind him. Jesse turned. Carlos was looking at them. His mouth was open a little. His hand was over his heart, an unconscious gesture. He was smitten.

Of course he would run their plates.

 

After Mexico, Jesse was better. He thought he never had cancer at all, though he has had symptoms on and off for so long. "You can't keep cancer as a pet. You kill it or it kills you. If it hasn't killed me, it isn't cancer."

"Your thinking processes," Mr. White shook his head. "If I can call them that."

"Haven't you heard of a false positive, Dr. Lab Rat?"

"Rationalize, rationalize," Mr. White said.

"I'm not worried. Why should you? When I was a little kid, my parents took me to the doctor twice for these same problens. By the time I got there, the symptoms were gone." Jesse was quiet because the memory wouldn't let go. "Besides, I cried my eyes out all the way there and back because of the biopsy. Those needles."

 

Walt felt like he was doing something constructivewhen he chopped and crushed and juiced and made Jesse drink it. Every damn day. Jesse felt better, no night sweats. But sweet Christ, kale juice. Just to think of it made Jesse want to barf. The brimming glass was on the kitchen island.

"And what's this crap?" Jesse held up a medication container from the clinic in Mexico. "Drugs are supposed to be fun. This makes me dizzy."

"Take it anyway."

Jesse locked an arm around Mr. White's head, tipped his chair back, braced it on his leg and held the glass of kale juice up to Mr. White's mouth. Then it occurred to him what a shit he is being. Mr. White was doing all this for him. Jesse lets the chair tip forward onto all four legs. Released Mr. White's head. 

Mr. White took a decorous sip from from the glass. 

"It's awful," he said. He handed it to Jesse. "Drink it." 

Jesse poured it down his throat. That was the nice thing about liquids; you could hurry them past your taste buds.

As a punishment, hours later, Walt grabbed Jesse's head the same way. "Off balance is a terrible feeling isn't it?" Mr. White was strong. For this moment he was a thug in a dark alley. He was pulling Jesse's sleep shorts off. Walt sat down in the wide chair, put Jesse's legs one over each arm and pulled Jesses's pelvis down over his cock. Jesse writhed but could not get away. Mr. White grasped Jesse's cock, smeared it with spit. Jesse could do nothing but orgasm.

 

Mr. White loved buying stuff for Jesse though Jesse was well able to afford his own computer, his own software, and computerdrawing tablet. Within a month his animation skills were sufficient to get him into the video design curriculum. Mr. White wondered what video games Jesse would create. 

He and Walt worked for hours. Mr. White did explanations on a free form e tutoring site and chemical consulting for companies that needed fresh eyes on a problem. Ask a question, pay a few dollars and get an answer from the tutors if they felt like picking it up. Their answers were posted for all to see. Mr. White became a favorite. Everyone consulted him. 

Walt watched Jesse at work. Once he had thought Jesse didn't want to work for what he wanted, but now Jesse did hours at a shot with deep concentration. If he ate or drank, he did not take his eyes from his monitors. Wiped his hands on his shirt. He'd come to bed all amped.

His fingers moved over Walt's belly, down to his cock. Walt was still but his cock twitched. They had done it three times this afternoon. Walt opened his eyes. 

"You've worn me out," he said.

"Not a problem," Jesse said. "I feel good." He nuzzled Mr. White's neck. He pushed Mr. White onto his stomach. Grabbed his ankles, pulled his legs wide, smeared a gob of lube in the cleft. Spread the cheeks and pressed his cock there. "Just ignore me," Jesse said as he pushed in. 

 

Skyler's commitment ceremony made the newspaper. 

"Skyler didn't file the divorce papers. It hasn't been seven years. I can't be declared dead," Mr. White said. "They can't marry but it looks like an engagement doesn't it?"

The photo showed Skyler and a good looking guy side by her side. He was about as tall as she and she was wearing heels. She did not have that stricken look any more. She wasn't ecstatic, but she had found some peace. You could tell.

Walter Jr. stood behind Skyler and her fiance. He had grown taller and had filled out.

Holly was in the corner of the photo but somehow she dominated it. A little girl with a big bow, her curls shining in the sunlight, a white dress. Intelligent eyes. 

Jesse clasped his hands. "Well look at her." 

Mr. White touched the photo of his daughter. Jesse felt the hurt of their separation.

"So stalk her," Jesse said. 

Walt looked at Jesse. This was not an option he had considered.

"Yeah, when I was in elementary, there were always divorced dads driving round, parking by the school yard, waiting for a glimpse."

"Pathetic."

"I used to get those guys to give me one or two bucks for bringing their kid up to the fence."

"Little shit."

"You'll see her."

That got to Mr. White.

"When she gets older, you won't have to be so careful. She'll be glad you came by."

Walt was interested.

"Hire a driver. Sit in the back seat. The car should have dark windows."

Mr. White looked away from the photo to Jesse. The idea had taken root.

 

In a drugstore, Jesse saw a skeletal tweaker girl getting busted for shop lifting cupcakes. She was so thin her eyes were huge in her face. She looked like special effects, an animatronic skeleton. He knew her history at a glance. He called out to her as the manager was telling her he had called the cops. The manager was the kind of guy who liked catching people. He enjoyed the fear, the humiliation. Catching shoplifters wasn't just part of his job. It was a perk. 

 

"You dropped this," Jesse said to her. He held out six twenties. 

 

He looked at the manager. He couldn't do Heisenberg's death glare, but the guy backed away.

 

"Thanks," she said. She cocked her head to the side. "This feels like conscience money." 

 

"Yeah, and here's some more." Jesse handed her three more twenties.

 

"This is a Blue Sky day."

"Huh?"

"Like the first day I had Blue Sky Meth."

Jesse could not say anything. He felt like the bad guy. He was the bad guy.

"You never had it? Don't tell me you never did meth." She tilted her head and gave him the look people give others when they think they're lying.

"It was too good," she said. "It made the whole day good."

"Wasn't that great," Jesse said. He couldn't take more of this conversation.

At home guilt bubbled up. If he had cancer or if it came back he should let it run its course. It's what he deserved. 

That night the sweats resumed. 

If he was dying, hed do it like an animal, go away, hide, let it end.

Walt found the program in a local hospital. 

"Only one hospital in the US is licensed for this experimental treatment. They wanted lymphoma patients who had not yet done conventional treatment. Walt was surprised Jesse agreeed so easily.

They went to the hospital administration office. The clerk looked hard at Walt, a stare which she throttled down. "Are you related to...?" she stopped.

"Yes," Walt smiled at her. "He's a distant relative but it's not something I like to talk about." He had a confiding way about him. Every family had a relative who did things his family didn't want to talk about. The clerk nodded. Of course. She was full of understanding for Walt's situation.

He told Jesse about this as they left the waiting room.

"The tech who took my blood asked if I was famous," Jesse said. I told her I had been in a band."

Jesse slammed the passenger side door as if they were making a getaway.

"Seeing me will make them think of you," he said.

Walt shrugged. He looked so different now, hair back, glowing skin, even younger. He wasn't concerned.

Jesse says they are not going to take the chance. " This is a cost of doing business, the business we were in. Two people have recognized us, first visit. If I go there I will be dropping a shitload of DNA. That could put me in the lab at the compound."

This did not dissuade Walt, not one little bit. 

Walt agreed with Jesse that they could be caught if he participated in the study. "We'll take that chance. You'll have enough to cover legal fees. We'll get our stories together. It can all be on me. There is nothing that will stick to you if you give them Heisenberg." 

"Don't go noble on me. Think about it. You in prison for life, me outside. You think that's how I want to live?

Mr. White grasped Jesse's wrists. "Will you do what I ask without a fight? For once."

"No." Jesse twisted his wrists and broke out of Mr. White's grasp. . "You're not going to prision for me." 

Jesse wrapped his arms around Mr. White,.

"We'll never get away from what we've done," Jesse said. Forty years from now, me pushing your wheelchair along, we could still get busted," Jesse deepened his voice like a radio announcer, "and punished to the full extent of the law."

"This is the time to stay off the radar," he added "You know what happens if someone dies at home? There are a lot of questions. Cops show up if it happens outside hospice care. If one recognizes me, or thinks that you resemble the great Heisenberg, it could all come apart. So if I really am dying, I will disappear. Like an animal."

Jesse kissed Mr. White and let him go. 

 

Walt went to stalk Holly. He wanted to see a lawyer about getting an investigator. 

Jesse was listening. Mr. White was finally doing something to please himself. Why a lawyer? 

"A lawyer won't turn me in if he suspects... An investigator working for a lawyer has to keep his mouth shut too. I want a lawyer who will not be too scrupulous about sources of information." 

They agreed that Jesse would check in to the hospital for pre treatment evaluation while Mr. White was out of town.. 

Jesse meant to cooperate. He went to the hospital. The entire ninth floor was committed to patients in the study. He filled out information for his history and physical. It was pretty much true except for his name.

Didn't take long.

He stepped off the elevator. The lobby was full of cops. While Jesse was getting his history and physical done, a cop had been shot. The cops were there to commiserate, give blood, hear the story. Jesse hoped it wasn't drug related. 

His endocrine system knew before his mind did. The adrenaline hit. He recognized that back, that voice. He whirled around so if Tuco/Carlos looked his way, he would see only a back disappearing among the uniforms. 

Jesse was in his car, in the hospital parking structure. He was furiously texting Mr. White, making mistakes. 

'Hospital full of cops. Including that Tuco lookalike. No study for me.'

Run. Stay away. I love you. 

The rapping on the window made him jump. He dropped his cell and it landed some place unreachable. He looked into Carlos' smiling face. 

Carlos looked a little older than Jesse remembered, tiny smile wrinkles by his eyes, a few gray hairs at his temples.

 

Walt picked up the messages. Jesse had cancelled his place in the study. He would go away. Stay where he would not draw the police to Mr. White. Dammit, cancelled only an hour after Walt left the house. Jesse looked good for the last few days as if he had taken a turn for the better. Walt remembered from someone, somewhere, sometime, ah yes, it was Marie who had said that people often looked better and brighter just before they crash.

Jesse rented a house and paid several months ahead. He doesn't want Mr. White asked questions when he finally croaked. He doesn't want Mr. White on the hospital surveillance video. But Jesse stayed in their neighborhood so he can check on him. 

Jesse went to a herbalist, paying cash.

He hoped to live, but he expected to die this time. 

Jesse did not want pain meds. He wanted to know how death feels as it comes close. Besides if he must have drugs better he get'em it off the street. He could get more without leaving tracks.

Now that he was living alone, Jesse thought he would eat the junk he liked. Pop, funyons. But in a few days he missed the horrible raw smoothies and juices Mr. White insisted he drink. Jesse bought a high end juicer, the same brand Mr. White bought. He got organic vegetables and fruit at the farmers' market. He washed and chopped and ate that same godawful stuff Mr. White made for him.

Tuco /Carlos spotted Jesse as he left the farmers' market, followed him and made it a habit to drive by Jesse's house.

He meant to find out was going on with Jesse . His garbage for one thing. Carlos liked garbage. Garbage is informative. Even the smell. Sometimes you can tell what drugs people are doing, tell what diseases they have. Carlos borrowed his mother's dog, a white furball that bounced along at the end of a rhinestone leash. If he were caught opening someone's garbage receptacle he would confess to dumping a bag of dogshit into it. That dog on that leash - he was just daring someone to call him a fag.

In his own car, in civilian clothes, Carlos pulled up into Jesse's driveway and checked the garbage. He looked like nothing more than a nosy neighbor. Tomorrow was pickup day so he should see a week's worth. Funyon bags. Apple cores. Crushed vegetables, a salad Carlos wouldn't offer a rabbit. 

He finally saw Jesse drive away from his house. Carlos considered pulling him over but only followed. 

Jesse slowed down beside a two story tudor.

Jesse had eyes only for the guy who was striding to his own car in the driveway, the same guy who was with Jesse at the buffet.

Walt looked good. Better than Jesse remembered. When he was Walt's student, Walt had a beaten down look. Heisenberg had a weathered, ill nourished look. But now Mr. White looked weirdly young.

Jesse was very much on Mr. White's mind. He looked back and thought what might have been if he had recognized Jesse's worth earlier. This was not sad. It pleased him to think of him and Jesse together. Maybe he would have gotten back into research chemistry. Jesse could get him thinking things like that. They were out in the desert, a lull in the cook, and Jesse said he made such great meth. Jesse blew a series of smoke rings through a funyon. What a child Walt thought. My child.

"Not everyone can do what you do, not even chemists or the world would be flooded with 99.1%. So why not chemical research?" 

Walt processed that. True, he was better than almost everyone else. 

"Apply yourself," Jesse said with a sideways look. 

They both remembered that Walt had written that on one of Jesse's quizzes. That was simmering in Walt's mind, as they finished up, and drove home. 

Despite the cancer he was hoping again, looking forward to something, not just bearing up. 

Being honorable, providing for people who depend on you did not have to be dreary. Walt had let himself settle for his joyless existence until Jesse came back into his life. 

It gave rise to a daydream. He and Jesse, keeping company. He'd have a second job, not at the carwash but in a chem lab, no matter how modest. He'd rise. Jesse would say something inane like 'Yeah science' as Walt talked through chemistry investigations he had ins mind. It was what he should be doing. He liked it. He was good at it.

 

Then Walt went to see his lawyer about stalking Holly and providing for her. And getting names of criminal defense lawyers -- never thought I would miss Saul. 

Carlos tracked Jesse to the farmers' market. He fell into step beside Jesse. Carlos loaded the vegetables, four bags stuffed to overflowing into the backseat of his police car. They sat in the front seat. Carlos was watching everyone. It had something to do with being a cop. Sometimes he looked at Jesse as he spoke then his eyes went back to their surroundings, scanning, scanning.

"To answer that question you aren't asking," Carlos said. "I wouldn't hurt your friend, unless he did something to you." He traced the scar on Jesse's forehead with his thumb. 

"He already evened the score on that," Jesse said.

For a moment Jesse remembered, heard, smelt, saw, the room in the compound, the machine gun. Yeah, Mr. White took care of that.

"Maybe you've been arrested," Carlos said. "I can't find it, Mr. Evan Lambert." He underlined Evan Lambert with his voice, making it clear that he knew it was an assumed name. He turned those ardent dark eyes on Jesse.

"There's something you should know about cops. We can do terrible things with impunity. We can overlook terrible things with impunity."

That got Jesse's heart beating fast. This was the either - or. Either you do this or I will do that.

"Don't tell me anything you wouldn't want any cop to know. But don't be afraid for your friend."

"Why not tell you things? If I trust you."

"Don't want you blaming me if some other cop finds out."

 

Carlos took Jesse to visit his aunt. She did daycare for her many grandchildren and neighborhood children, lived off that and social security. Her husband wass disabled. Carlos brought her some groceries and waved her to sit down while he made lunch for the kids. Jesse could see into the kitchen from the living room. The layout was familiar. It took Jesse back to when Tuco was making a meal for his uncle, when he and Mr. White were his prisoners. God, he missed Mr. White. It fit that phrase he used to see in Ginny's bodice rippers when he read to her. Jesse was sick with longing. 

The kids loved Jesse. One sat on his lap while they play a guitar together. Then he drew pictures for them to color. The best was of a truck driver, his elbow resting on the open window, a hairy tarantula sitting on that arm, a veritable angora tarantula, the wind blowing her hair back. The little boy loved that.

Carlos set down smoothies for the kids. Another little boy asked Jesse to draw a picture for him, so Jesse did the tarantula again, this time with a cop car showing up in the side view mirror. The child was laughing before Jesse set the drawing down for him to color.

 

There were in a dumpy restaurant in a downscale strip mall. The food was to die for. They were eating nachos off the big plate, cheese dripping in long strings, savage seasoning, weaponized jalopenos. They knew each other well enough that they understood the context of their remarks.

"Felonies, I got more felonies than I can process. Can't bust 'em all, so I can be picky. I have ways of dealing with people without putting them into the system."

"I don't know that I'll ever get over it. But no problem," Jesse said.

"No problem? Cancer and you got no problem?"

"We all get cancer, what three or four times? It must kill oncologists to see all those tumors getting away without expensive treatment. 

"Jeez, I'm supposed to be the cynical one here."

"Anyway, I've had night sweats and lumps, on and off most of my life and now he gets his knickers in a twist cause I am not going for burn and poison."

After Jesse mentioned Mr. White, they were quiet a while, eating and washing the burn out of their throats with sips of cold beer.

"So what is that guy to you?'

Jesse didn't answer for so long Carlos thought he was not going to answer.

"Everything," Jesse said.

A long silence. Carlos stopped eating, leaned backand watched Jesse. Carlos took disappointment the way a strong person does.

"So, when are we going to my aunt's again?" Carlos said. "I went yesterday and all I heard was 'where's Evan?' ' where's Evan?'"

 

Jesse smiled It was great being around kids. But it brought home that there was a difference between these people and him. Carlos had it in him to be a badass. It took no effort at all to imagine him beating the crap out of someone and enjoying it. But he was not a meth manufacturer and coldblooded murderer. At least Jesse was pretty sure that he was not a cold blooded murderer. Jesse's history could come crashing in on those good people.

 

"Hey, this isn't the first time a cop drove you home," Carlos said as they pulled up in front of Mr. White's house.

No it wasn't.

"Jesse," Carlos said. 

Jesse's head snapped toward him. 

"Facial recognition software. Cameras everywhere now."

"Jesse Pinkman, known associate of Heisenberg." Carlos rested his wrist on the steering wheel, as usual watching, watching."But DEA records have it Heisenberg was dying of cancer. End stage. That guy you were with first time I saw you, way too young and healthy to be Heisenberg."

Jesse was staring at him. What was he going to want to be quiet? Jesse hated himself for it, but for a millisecond he wondered if he would have to kill again to protect Mr. White. He didn't think he could do it.

"It's like I told you. Cops can overlook. My mother got help from the Salamancas when she was just a poor dumb wetback girl.. A Salamanca has to fuck up big time before I bust him. I don't even want to think about what I would let you get away with."

Jesse thought Carlos was better than he deserved. 

Carlos leaned toward him, put his hand on the side of Jesse's head, splayed his fingers in Jesse's hair and kissed him. 

Jesse didn't pull away, but he didn't respond either.

"Had to get a taste of what I'll never have," Carlos said as he took his hand from Jesse's hair, cupped his cheek.

Jesse got out of the car.

"Hey," Carlos said. "Come back to my aunt's."

"Evan or Jesse?"

"Whatever. No problem if you are careful with your name."

Jesse stepped away from the police car. Then he stepped back to it and thumped his hand the hood.

"Take the juicer out of my house. For the kids' smoothies. Very nourishing," Jesse said. "The housekey's in the hornets' nest by the back door."

 

Jesse let himself in. It was so quiet and dim. He saw the back of Mr. White's head. He was on the sofa watching a dead fire. 

Jesse set down his duffle bag and went to him. He put his hands on Walt's shoulders. Mr. White turned his face to Jesse. He was thinner his face drawn.

Jesse kissed the top of his head, put his face against Mr. White's hair. Swayed a little as if he were rocking him.

"It felt like the cabin with you gone," Mr. White said as he turned and embraced Jesse.

"Maybe I have cancer, maybe not. Probably not. But I will not go the burn/poison route. I am not going to let you show up on video surveillance." 

Jesse was quiet for a while. "It's awful without you but I am not letting you go to prison." He cradled Mr. White's head. "You'll be no one's prisoner but mine." 

Jesse stepped over the back of the sofa and knelt between Mr. White's legs. His hands worked the belt, the zipper. As he pulled Mr. White's slacks off, he hooked his arms under Mr. White's knees and pulled him close to the edge of the sofa. He peeled Mr. White's shorts off and touched his cock. He put his face to that fragrant skin. 

 

Mr. White had involved himself in an e-tutoring and consulting site. His explanations, walks through math and chemistry problems were there for anyone to see. He suggested direction for research. If a more detailed answer was wanted, there was a modest fee and that explanation joined the freebies anyone could see. He was the great notorious Heisenberg, shark dangerous, but by God he had a work ethic. He did a few chemistry demonstrations, and uploaded videos to make clear how things were done, safe practice and the way some reactions looked..

He never showed his face in these demonstrations.

Jesse read some of the feedback over Mr. White's shoulder. 

I would never have passed, let alone got an A without you.

You're the teacher I wish I'd had.

I love you.

I didn't expect to like math until you came along.

I was bombing organic until I found you.

Please contact. You're the best consultant this company ever had.

 

Mr. White started laughing. He didn't stop. He was like a child laughing until it felt like he was suffocating.

It was a message from Eliot Schwarz.

Brilliant consultations as well as academic assistance. We'll work around any nondisclosure obligations you have. Please tell me your name so I can enter an application on your behalf to Gray Matter.

Eliot Schwarz, Gray Matter.

Jesse had seen Mr. White inert with despair. They'd had frantic sex as Walt put death at a distance for a little while. This was something new, joy, vindication, release from years of festering rage. 

"Dear God, Eliot wants my CV, to hire me for an obscene salary plus proceeds from any patents I develop." 

Mr. White was laughing so hard tears ran from his eyes.

Mr. White grabbed Jesse's shoulders, looked at him as if he attributed all this good to him. "You," he said. "you."

Without Jesse, he would have borne his fate, worked until he couldn't go on with his joyless life, until....

Mr. White's hands were under Jesse's shirt, pulling it off. He put his thumbs against Jesse's nipples, pinched. Nuzzled his neck. Kissed. Jesse undid his jeans but Mr.White reached to pull them off. He looked at Jesse naked, as if it were the first time. 

Mr. White reached to Jesse's armpits. Delicately touched. Nothing, no lumps, but Jesse writhed. "Oh, fuck, stop it. That tickles."

"That tickles?" Mr. White said, and clamped both Jesse's wrists in his right hand. Mr. White had his strength back and there was no getting away from him. "This tickles," and his fingertips danced over Jesse's neck, his ribs. He forced Jesse to the floor, grabbed his feet and tickled. Jesse twisted and gasped. He laughed as hard as Mr. White had when he read Eliot's offer.


End file.
